


Hopes ! GOT7

by akajaehyung



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mark is whipped, cashier mark, jinyoung is whipped, sad boy jinyoung, soft boy mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akajaehyung/pseuds/akajaehyung
Summary: Mark could have it all, but it's this little brown guy in the middle of the crowd who makes his heart beat.





	1. Première Partie

Mark liked the simple things, those little everyday things that made his whole world. Mark loved the gaudy colors and lights of streetlights that illuminate the sleeping city in the evening. He loved people, cherished his dreams and hopes, warmly buried his fears and anxieties in the depths of his soul. He believed in fairy tales, hoping to see one day come a prince charming on his beautiful white horse. He saw the positive wherever he went, and his sweet smile revived hearts in a matter of moments. And so he met Park JinYoung: making his heart beat again.

*

The sun happily lit the neighborhood, creating proud shadows on concrete floors and homes. All kinds of people crossed the crowded street: small, big, eccentric, businessmen, teenagers in tears ... but only this little black lost in the middle of the crowd managed to attract the attention of Mark . At first glance, JinYoung seemed like a banal person, but Mark knew how to read his soul. He had seen all his grief buried, his smoky dreams and his hopes fallen into a dark abyss. He had seen him for several minutes, watching his figure carefully. Medium-sized, brown, dressed in black, white skin and dark circles; he looked like a corpse and could quickly scare anyone away, but not Mark. Because he intrigued her. His dark eyes watched the world without emotions, but his face remained high - perhaps not to give up. Mark remembers walking through the crowd to join him, but he disappeared as quickly as the smoke of a cigarette. Since then, his face haunts the dreams of the black man and takes away all the saints in him.

"What are you doing to me, God?"

He drives him crazy, and the worst part is that he likes it.

It was a Monday morning that his entire life was turned upside down. Like every morning, he went to work - a cashier in a small shop, not very glamorous I know - and like every day, he passed articles in front of a scanner, announced prices, and cashed. A little routine that suited him well, and that day it was a blessing.

The ghost of his dreams and the most daring fantasies was before him, a pack of lagers in his hand, the rest resting on the carpet. His heart beating wildly, he passed the articles in front of the scan, without detaching his eyes from this divine apparition. His face seemed as tired as the last time (if not more), but he still emits a shy smile to Mark, probably aware of his interest in it.

"Card or liquid? finally asks the employee, his eyeballs still fixed on the unknown.

"Check," he replied after seeing the amount displayed. "

God, his voice.

Mark hands him a pen, and if he had been a little more attentive at the moment, he would have seen the paper that the black had released in addition to his checkbook. He notes the amount, his name and sign, then stretches the two plant leaves, before grabbing his bag and leaving.

 

**** Park JinYoung

012-XXX-XXX

*

 

The night has fallen for several hours now and the nightlife is taking place. She makes herself mistress of the world, takes the form of our anxieties, and makes us relive our worst nightmares in the darkness of the night.

The darkness is oppressive. It is at this moment that the hidden face of this urbanized district is revealed, illuminating the silent beauty of the night. The bars, the discotheques offer happiness and freedom to those who ask it. The shutters of the houses are closed, and the few cars that roll cross the road without worrying about this mysterious universe that asks to be known, lived without any taboos. The night is breathing, she is free. She takes possession of her playground, starts a new game, has fun with our lives. She reminds people of the dark side of human existence, how tiny they are in front of her. Tonight, it is she who decides, who will win this part without any worries, because it is she, the mistress of our fears.

Rebel stars twinkle in the darkness, yet none watches over him. He walks slowly, his left hand buried in the pocket of his coat, his neck hidden in the collar. The pale moon protects itself from the night power by black clouds. He carries the started cigarette he holds between his long fingers to his mouth and sucks a puff of nicotine into his lungs, a sense of impending well-being, a relief from his distressing sorrows. A cloud of gray smoke spreads through the air before disappearing into the darkness. He raises his eyes to the sky to better observe the thousands of small lights that illuminate his sleepless nights.

Car headlights dazzle him. A vehicle brakes to his right and opens the passenger window at the front. He stops walking and takes his left hand out of his pocket. He sighs and lets his cigarette fall to the ground. He crushes it with the tip of his shoe before putting his eyes on the driver of the car. It reveals a grin and looks around before unlocking the door.

"Get up," he orders coldly.

His hand sits gently on the handle, his eyes veiled with hesitation, before opening the door and sitting in the cockpit. It suppresses a desire to vomit, as the smell of alcohol and tobacco mixed is strong. He observes the front of the car where empty cans and corpses of cigarettes are littering, then finally lets his gaze drift on the driver chewing gum loudly, producing a very annoying sound to his ears. 

"We go to my house," the man said hoarsely.

The landscape scrolls slowly, the multicolored lights and sounds of the neighborhood gradually fade away, while JinYoung lets her head fall on the glass, eyes closed.

The car stops and a building stands in front of them. Reluctantly, he gets out of the car, following his client closely. They cross the long dilapidated corridor, reach the elevator and go up to the fourth floor. The two doors of the elevator open and they rush into the fenced driveway of this old suburban building. The door of the apartment is under eyes, wide open. He does not want to enter, but his legs contradict him. He follows him into the room, lets him undress him, the eyes of his client reflect only the desire he gives birth in him. In turn, he takes off his own clothes, and they lie on the bed. The moans fuse in the room, flooding the silence with obscene, enjoyable noises. One groans with pleasure, the other with disgust. Two contradictory feelings, yet closely related. He closes his eyes, leaving his mind to leave his body which is nothing but a toy of desire, henceforth. He closes his eyes in the hope of never opening them again.

 

*

Mark goes home, exhausted. He puts his beige coat on the coat rack (yes, because it's made for that, you see) and literally throws himself on his couch, his savior facing this day of hard work. A lightning bolts through him suddenly and he grabs his phone in his back pocket, the small folded paper stuck in his pale pink phone case. He unfolds it carefully and smiles, before saving the number, and nervously typing a message, then he puts his mobile phone on the coffee table, the screen facing the wood.

 

 

From : **Mark**

To : **JinYoung**

_Hey, it's Marl. You know, the cashier ;)  
_

7:45 PM

From : **JinYoung**

To : **Mark**

_Hey handsome.  
_

7 : 47 PM

*

It's eight o'clock when Mark slowly gets out of bed, his hair messy. His jaw breaks down into a long, elegant yawn and removes the blanket from his legs. A current of air is felt and he has goosebumps, but he can not afford to waste time unnecessarily so he takes his courage in both hands and courageously gets up from his oh so soft mattress and joined his kitchen. With his head back he prepares himself a cup of coffee, his face fixed on the palm of his hand. He observes the brown liquid flowing slowly, enjoying its soft color that falls into a fine cascade and the enticing smell of caffeine. Hungry, he grabs a baguette and spreads a generous layer of butter over it, and leaves to get his phone left abandoned in the living room like a poor soul. Cell phone in hand, he goes back to the kitchen where the coffee has stopped flowing and is pouring a cup. He begins to drink greedily, fully savoring this warm bitter drink. The blond catches one of his toast and crunches it like a savage, before unlocking his phone. He almost dies seeing the message of JinYoung, wide-eyed, but soon regains his composure and responds, a light smile drawn on his baby face.

From : **Mark**

To : **JinYoung**

_met me à the café in front of the shop at 4 ?  
_

08 : 21 AM

From : **JinYoung**

To : **Mark**

_Definitively._

08 : 24 AM

Following this answer that could not be more satisfactory, Mark finishes to engulf his breakfast and leaves for the small store, impatient for his day to end.

*

Fifteen hours and fifty-nine minutes and forty-eight seconds. JinYoung waits in this cozy little cafe, a hot chocolate steaming in front of him and a black coffee on the other side. Stressed and anxious, he keeps looking at his watch and he feels that time is not moving forward, that he remains cloistered in a sphere, without moving, without moving forward. His black pupils stares excitedly as soon as the door opens and at four pm, still no sexy cashier in sight. Customers continue to come in and out, and JinYoung begins to lose hope of coming. At four o'clock and five minutes, a blonde head appears and joins the table where Jinyoung is patiently waiting for him.  
  
" You are late.  
  
\- Are you upset ?  
  
\- Maybe I am.  
  
\- And what can I do to forgive myself? asks Mark, his head about ten inches from JinYoung's.  
  
\- I do not know, what is in your capacity? replied the latter, a smirk on his angelic face. "  
  
And Mark crushed this fucking centimeters.

 


	2. Seconde Partie

There was a ray of hope in the sky that delighted Mark. He found there an elegance, a refinement that was matched only by the hope that reigns in the eyes of impoverished souls who roam the streets in the evening, searching for a frugal love, a little short, a little passionate . A little bit of everything, to make them believe that they are not condemned yet, that there is still a semblance of lucidity.

 

_When there is hope, there is life._ A sentence that had tormented his brain as a young child when his grandfather, a cigar in his hand, a little ashes on his Sunday coat, leaving a church of any god he did not believe (he still does not believe in, to be fair). He told him those fuzzy words. He was only five and was already seeing the world as a crowding crowd, with a floral smile painted on his face. But hope, he did not know. For him, the smiles that lit up his days were jewels that were worth everything, real diamonds that brightened up a little more his happy life. Naively, he believed that what he saw was the the reality. From  little yellow characters you see on television, to horror movies that his parents watched at night, he thought all of it was real. Only when he was in highschool he realized that, sometimes, those very smiles just were some  _natures mortes._ Floral smiles with dried petals, dead, faded. This vision horrified him. And only then did he understand his grandfather's words, gone a couple of years ago. 

 

Then, from his laughing eyes to his jovial clumsiness, he gave birth to hope. He was aware of it, and he liked it. He was happy to make his friends happy too. All deserved it. This happiness sometimes ephemeral, sometimes eternal. Then came the day he met the gaze of Park JinYoung, the shadow that followed him, encroaching on his light. But his light was the hope of the shadow. A flash of light, a hope from God.

 

*

 

10 AM. Mark already left the apartment. JInyoung is lying on the couch, a hand on the head, eyes turned towards the flashing screen. The volume is low but, to the brown haired man, it is a symphony of treble screams, of strident voices and stupid sentences. He wants nothing. He just wants to stay here, without moving, without talking. His phone is ringing, but he does not answer. He simply wants to rest a little.

The night was hard. His eyes never closed. He just rested his head on Mark's torso, letting himself gently lulled by his breathing, listening with boredom to his heartbeat. Sometimes he wonders how he gets to sleep as soon as his foot slips under the blanket. Mark has to sleep on command, it's not possible otherwise.

 

The blond worries for his boyfriend. Jinyoung does not sleep, barelt eat, and lets himself die on the blue night couch in the living room. He wants to talk to him, to make him laugh or to make him smile. But there is only the emotionless face of the raven boy in front of him. Yet, inside him, he feels his heart racing, exalted, at each of his nonsense. He wants to be able to laugh like he needs to, his most cherished desire. Show Mark that he loves him, pronounce those words, shout them as soon as he thinks. But his lips do not open. He knows that he is hurting his lover, he feels it gradually fading away. He wants to hold him back, but his arms do not stretch. His hands do not grip him. He would like to kiss her passionately, but their lips are forgotten. Only their loving spirits remember, but perhaps they are ignorant of the love he cherishes with all his being.

 

The key turns in the lock. Mark came home, arms loaded. He goes into the kitchen and runs the errands on the wobbly little wooden table (promised, one day he will change it), then joins JinYoung in the living room. He kisses him on the forehead, then sits at his feet, his sweet look at the TV.

« JinYoung, begins the blond, we need to talk.

— About what ?

— About us.»

The youngest suddenly stands up and the fear takes him to the guts.

« It can't go on like this anymore.

— Mark...

— Don't speak, please. I see you degrade on this couch all day, I feel useless. You tell me nothing, but I can see that you're not okay. You smile less than before - and you were not smiling a lot, it says a lot - and you lock yourself in the silence. And I'm tired of it. So tell me, please. Tell me what's going on in your head, tell me what's bothering you. Or just cry on my shoulder. But do not push me away, do not leave me aside. Because otherwise, it will not work. We will not work. You're going to die, and I do not want to find you after you fucked yourself up knowing that I could have avoided it.

— It is complicated.

— I don't care, JinYoung. I really don't give a shit it is complicated. I just want you to tell me what the fuck is on your mind  just once. I can hear you cry at night, so stop pulling me aside and talk to me. This is why I am here. And if you don't want to, if it is "complicated", then pack your things and leave. But I can't go on like this, it's eating me.

— Give me some time, please.

— I think I have you enough time. A whole year. We've been dating for a whole year and you're still a fucking mystery to me.

— Mark... I can't, I really can't. It's too hard, too hard to live everything again, please understand me. 

— But I can't. I can't understand you, you never speak. You're even more boring and complicated than an equation with ten unknowns.»

 

And he leaves the room, slams the door and lets the brunette curl up on himself, a torrent of tears sliding down his destroyed face.

 

*

It is past midnight. Jinyoung is wandering in the streets, alone, victim of the shadows chasing him. His eyes glance stealthily behind him, steps follow him, oppressing him, he is sure of it. His breathing is calm, but chills linked to the fear that surrounds his being.

The night is like a painting. Dark blues faded black, illuminated by sumptuous stars. A graceful night landscape that hid many secrets. Secrets that are revealed only after dark, in our haunted dreams. The rare cars that circulate create a luminous flow, a parade of red and blue that would enchant Mark. But he was not there. He was alone lost in the silent city, his body trembling and his heart beating. He raises his dark eyes to the celestial expanse and observes the moon in solemn silence.

In this lighting, he looks back on his life. His vices and his regrets. This life he has led and would wish to erase to know only Mark and his delights. He also thinks of the life he would have liked, a vision of perversion that belongs only to the lucky ones. In this perfect life, Mark would be there too, but there would not be that emptiness that separates them, which keeps them away a little more each night. This gaping gap creates a deep wound. Love is the devil, he realized. But Mark, he's his paradise. His little hope.

His mother often told him that you have to know how to it like a man and love like a woman. He has always tried to apply this idea. He heard the children screaming, then he heard himself screaming. But there was a difference between these yet similar cries. One was appreciated, the other cursed. There had always been a part of him who liked to see the other suffer. But this desire quickly dried up when, then fifteen years old, he found himself alone in an alley, wedged between two garbage cans, in the hands of his lover. He had known the pain. As soon as he saw him drinking beer on beer, he knew it was going to go wrong. And he was not wrong. A misplaced look, yet innocent and naive, had made it fall for a return to hell. It was followed by a relationship of the most sordid, the most atrocious. JinYoung became a commodity that his elder sold to the weaker ones. A depraved body in favor of the wealth of the other. Then, emaciated, weakened, bloodshot eyes and the destroyed physique, he fled. He ran barefoot and took refuge under a bridge where dozens of people were homeless. It had been, for a few months, his home of fortune. Then, he tried to flee. Without diplomas, he could not do much. In a world of barbarians, his intellectual served nothing, only his body counted. So he had continued to sell himself. For him, this time. Initially, it was supposed to be only a few months, the time it is another job or training that could get out of his situation. But he never had the opportunity. And then, casually, he was well paid. So he continued. He did not really want it, but he did not want it stopped either. He was contradictory.

 

Then, there was Mark. He saved him. And he feels bad for making him suffer, lying to him, hurting him. He turns, observes the illuminated street and runs. He must return, he must explain himself. He must fix it.

*

 

 

They are sitting around the table. They do not look at each other. There is no noise around, just a silence.

«I guess you came back to take your things," Mark finally said, a thin veil of sadness on his black pupil.

\- No.

\- Why then ?

\- I thought it was time for me to explain.

- Glad you found out, says the elder.

\- Not now, please. »

Silence, again. Heavier this time, the tension is palpable and both have hearts that beat at an hour.

«Do you remember when you said that I was precious, a rare and fragile, pure pearl that illuminates your already luminous life? It's wrong. I'm a black pearl, foggy, cracked everywhere, about to explode, to cover your world with a storm cloud, to strike a thunderbolt on your life. But you saved me. In part. You make my heart beat, Mark, and I'm not ready to let you go. I need you, you're the only one who keeps me alive. Your jokes, your smiles, all that makes me crazy. You make me a good person, you redder my life a little crappy. But I'm not a good person either. I hurt myself, I got dirty. My body was my business, I was my own business. I was so poor, so desperate, I never found an alternative. Then you came into my life, like that, by magic. And you let me go. I stopped prostitution. You're not the only one to touch me, but you're the only one to make love to me. Because I love you, there was only me and my feelings when I kissed you. I need you, terribly. So do not leave, please.

\- I'm not leaving. I will never really leave.

\- You should, however, I am harmful.

\- Never.»

And their lips were found, had fun. Their bodies mingled, they ignited. They caressed each other, touched each other, and their souls became bonded together.

 


End file.
